


Giveaway fic #2

by ConsultingPurplePants



Series: 500 Tumblr Followers Giveaway Fics [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1, Kissing, M/M, trying to kiss mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6226132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingPurplePants/pseuds/ConsultingPurplePants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John just want to kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giveaway fic #2

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this one is for [@letthechoirsing](http://letthechoirsing.tumblr.com) :)
> 
> Her prompt was:   
> _Alors, pour ce prompt! Pourquoi pas Sherlock et John qui sont sur le point d'avoir leur first kiss mais dont interrompu juste avant ! Apres Ca ils y a pleins d'autre occasions mais à chaque fois quelque chose les en empêche ! Jusqu'à ce que l'un d'eux en ai marre et just fuck it, I'm going to kiss than man now and I don't care about anything else ! Voilà, j'espère que Ca t'inspire ! Je suis trop contente de faire partie des 5!!! Hâte de lire Ca !_
> 
> Which translates to:   
> _Ok, so for this prompt! Why not Sherlock and John about to have their first kiss but they get interrupted right before! After that there are loads of other occasions but every time something stops it from happening! Until one of them has had enough and just says fuck it, I'm going to kiss the man now and I don't care about anything else! There, I hope it inspires you! I am happy to be part of the 5!!! Can't wait to read this!_

1.  
Sherlock has been back exactly a year the first time it happens.

John has been waiting for this day for months, has planned everything down to the last detail. He’s made the thing with the peas, has convinced Molly to send Sherlock home from the lab at exactly the right time, and has placed two long candles on the table. He’s prepared for nearly every eventuality.

He’s just setting down the second napkin when the door opens. He hears Sherlock take a few steps into the flat, sniff, then stop moving completely. John smiles to himself.

“John? What are you—,” he starts, but stops as soon as he pokes his head into the kitchen and catches sight of the candles. Sherlock’s eyes widen.

“It’s been a year since you came back,” John blurts out.

Sherlock is still eyeing the candles in wonder. There’s a long moment of silence.

“You remembered,” Sherlock breathes, “You—.”

John cuts him off by rushing to stand directly in front of him, never breaking eye contact. He places his hands on Sherlock’s hips and savours his quiet intake of breath.

“Of course I did,” John whispers up at him. “How could I possibly forget?”

And then he’s rising up on his toes, adrenaline burning through his veins as his lips edge ever closer to Sherlock’s. He can feel Sherlock’s breath drifting across his mouth as he approaches, Sherlock’s hands coming up to touch his own hips, and it’s exhilarating, it’s—

“SHERLOCK! There’s been another one, right up the street this time!” Lestrade bellows from downstairs, and John groans.

Sherlock turns to give him a shocked look as he rushes out the door.

2.  
It’s another month before the time feels right again.

This time, John doesn’t waste time on the theatrics; Sherlock had seen it all last time, and he feels like it would be too much, too obvious, to do the same thing again.

This time, Sherlock is playing the violin, his back to John as he gently sways back and forth in front of the window. The bow slides gracefully as Sherlock coaxes one of John’s favourite pieces from the strings, and John hasn’t felt this content in a very long time. He leans back in his armchair, and in that moment, he sees himself doing this every night for the rest of his life, and it’s the single best thought he has ever had.

He and Sherlock growing old together, sitting in their armchairs and listening to disks of violin pieces that Sherlock had recorded before his hands grew too gnarled to play.

Making each other tea and laughing at each other’s grey hairs.

Lying down together in bed for the thousandth time and it feeling just as wonderful, just as new as the first time.

John has never wanted anything this much.

He waits until Sherlock drops his bow arm and turns, and when their eyes meet, he lets his every thought show in his face. Sherlock’s eyes go comically wide, and in the space of an instant he is on his knees in front of John’s chair.

“John,” he whispers, and John leans down so he can cup Sherlock’s face in his hands, stroking his thumbs across the ridiculous cheekbones he’s cherished for so long. He rests his forehead against Sherlock’s and just breathes him in, letting himself—

“Hoo hoo! I’ve just made some casserole if you boys haven’t had dinner yet, it would be lovely if you would— Oh!”

Mrs Hudson stands in the doorway, watching them with a knowing look. John doesn’t even bother trying to hold in his look of disappointment. She gives them a big, exaggerated wink as she backs out the door.

John doesn’t even have time to apologize before Sherlock’s bedroom door slams.

3.  
Three months later, a case nearly ends in tragedy.

“You _lunatic!_ ” John shouts as they crash through the door. “What the hell were you thinking!?”

He doesn’t even give Sherlock the chance to answer before rushing towards the bathroom to get his kit. He’s fairly sure the cut won’t need stitches, but he wants to disinfect it as soon as he possibly can. He has no idea what that knife had touched before slicing across Sherlock’s neck.

He rushes back into the kitchen, where Sherlock is obediently sitting down with a tea towel pressed firmly to his neck. The giant wad of tissues they’d used as a makeshift bandage are sitting in a bloody heap on the table next to his elbow.

“He had a knife, Sherlock, I know you saw it, I know you know better than to rush at a desperate murderer who has a knife,” John fumes as he dabs at the cut with disinfectant wipes. His tone is at odds with the gentleness of his movements, and he can see Sherlock’s mouth quirk upwards as he notices.

“I don’t care what he was holding, John, it was imperative that I reach him as soon as possible,” Sherlock responds, barely moving his lips in an effort to keep still. John looks up just in time to see him wince when he disinfects a particularly deep part of the cut.

“ _Why_? What could he _possibly_ have been doing that was so important?” John demands. He starts pulling out long gauze strips and medical tape. The cut is oozing sluggishly now, the blood finally beginning to clot properly. He methodically cuts the tape into appropriate-length strips.

He’s just fixing the last piece of gauze in place when he hears Sherlock barely intelligible answer.

“Coming after you,” he responds, and John freezes.

He looks up, and Sherlock is looking down at him with a solemn expression, nearly daring John to do something about it.

All of the air leaves the room as Sherlock’s nose brushes against John’s.

All of it enters again as their flat door slams open with a bang.

“Oi, freak, you forgot your scarf!” Sally shouts as she throws the sliced, bloodied cloth at the back of John’s head. She leaves just as quickly as she came, and Sherlock flies from the table to go make his violin screech abominably in the sitting room.

4.  
The bathroom door opens just as John is taking his towel off. As a result, he’s completely naked when Sherlock walks in.

“John, did you—.”

Silence.

John shivers as Sherlock’s eyes rake up and down his naked form. He stays absolutely still.

Sherlock steps forwards, his dressing gown falling open to reveal his shirtless form beneath, and John stops breathing.

Something explodes in the kitchen.

Sherlock evaporates.

John turns the shower back on to have a wank.

5.  
On the anniversary of the day he finally got rid of Mary, her fake pregnancy, and her attempts on Sherlock’s life, John wakes up feeling awful.

Everything seems to hurt; everything he sees is a reminder of what he thought he had had, of what he thought his life would be like.

Everything hurts except for Sherlock.

Sherlock doesn’t say anything, but John still notices it.

He notices the way Sherlock discreetly blocks his view as a woman with a pram walks towards them.

He notices that in all of the junk mail they receive that day, not a single magazine or flyer contains a picture of a bride, a dress, or a baby.

He notices that his day is free of any and all avoidable reminders, and for that, he is so grateful that his heart aches.

He also notices Sherlock sneaking glances at him all day, checking to see if he’s okay, and by the end of the day, after they’ve had dinner and are sitting across from each other at the writing desk, he finally lets himself look back at him.

Sherlock’s eyes are full of emotion as John opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, then finally just says, “Thank you, Sherlock.”

But when John holds the eye contact, lets his gratitude shine through, and starts to rise from his chair, Sherlock gives him a sad sort of half-smile and says, “Not tonight, John. Not like this.”

And then he’s gone.

+1  
“John! Glad to see you back on a crime scene,” Dimmock tells him as he claps him on the back. They’ve done crime scenes nearly exclusively with Lestrade until this point, and it’s the first time he’s seen Dimmock in a long time. He gives him a wide smile as he turns to see where Sherlock has gone.

He doesn’t have to look far. Sherlock and Lestrade are having a clearly heated conversation over by one of the squad cars, and John’s not sure he wants to get involved. He knows Sherlock isn’t thrilled that Lestrade has had to hand this one over, but there are only so many things one can do in the face of a family emergency.

Even from this far away, mid-arm-flail, Sherlock catches his eye and stops. Sherlock gives John a dramatic eye roll just as Dimmock continues, “Haven’t seen you in ages, I thought you would’ve come sooner since you’ve been back in Baker Street for—what, a year, now?”

The eye roll stops. Sherlock’s mouth drops open, and something like fury crosses his face. John turns to Dimmock, but he doesn’t seem to know what to make of it, his face showing just as much confusion as John’s.

When John turns back towards Sherlock, he receives a mouthful of Belstaff.

“Mmmrff!” he exclaims.

“You’ve been back for a year, John, a year,” Sherlock says, his voice cracking on the last word. “It has been a year today, and this is _intolerable_.”

John has absolutely no time to respond, because Sherlock’s lips are crashing into his, and Sherlock’s tongue is in his mouth, and Lestrade is giving a wolf-whistle in the background, and there is no way that could matter any less because _Sherlock is kissing him_.

The shock jolts John into action, and he lets his lips slide open wider as he chases Sherlock’s tongue with his own, letting them stroke across each other before he gently nibbles at Sherlock’s plush bottom lip. Sherlock makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat that goes straight to John’s groin, and why are they at a crime scene right now and not in the back of a cab?

He grabs a lapel in each fist and yanks Sherlock as close as he can get him, desperate for more contact, before he lurches back, panting hard. Sherlock looks wrecked, his hair in disarray, his eyes wild, his cheeks flushed a burning red, and John forgets what he wanted to say as all of the blood in his brain rushes to his groin.

Instead, he says the first thing that pops into his head, which turns out to be, “I love you so fucking much, Sherlock.”

Someone in the background starts to clap, and Sherlock’s, “I love you, too,” is lost in a wave of applause and someone’s shout of _Finally_!

John takes the time to give Sherlock a wide, slightly predatory grin before grabbing him by the hand.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

And John is fairly sure he’s never seen Sherlock hail a taxi that quickly before.


End file.
